


Abstinent

by yeaka



Category: White Lines
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:55:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24451696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Oriol shows up.
Relationships: David/Oriol Calafat
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Abstinent

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own White Lines or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

When David’s dead asleep, for once sober and still peaceful, there are very few people he’ll actually get out of bed for, but one rings him up in the middle of the night and says just, _“I’ll be right over.”_ He’s lived on Ibiza long enough to understand the words, even if he prefers to converse in English—it’s just easier for him to pick up on subtleties that way. But it’s easy enough to catch the strain and exhaustion in Oriol’s rich voice. David agrees, “Okay,” and the line goes dead. 

He heads over to the entranceway in the same white robe he fell asleep in, a single string of beads lingering around his neck and bed-head in his eyes. He tries to brush his hair back and wipe the sleep away, wishing he’d thought to slip into sandals—the tile’s cold at night. His chest is still slightly damp from the raging heat of the afternoon. He’s barely to the door when the knock comes—Oriol must’ve called from the car. 

He practically lets himself in. He’s been in David’s home so many times that he probably feels like _it is home_ , or maybe that’s just David’s wishful thinking. David swings the door shut and doesn’t bother locking it again. He yawns on the way over to Oriol, “Rough night?”

Oriol stands in the center of the lobby looking absolutely flawless: utterly _delectable_ , lean and tall in a crisp grey suit that perfectly hugs his handsome figure. His dark hair rolls back in waves, his white sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and it’s hard to spot so much as a wrinkle out of place, but David knows that spotless look doesn’t necessarily mean Oriol hasn’t survived another self-explosion. Oriol nods but doesn’t explain—when David reaches Oriol, he rephrases, “What’s going on?”

For a split second, David looks hopelessly, heart-wrenchingly _lost_. But then a mask of surety falls over him, and he leans in like he knows exactly what he’s doing. 

He catches David’s face in both hands and slams their mouths together. Surprise doesn’t begin to describe it. Oriol presses hard, insistent, lingering, not with tongue but still intense. And it warms David to his very core. 

A part of him screams to open his mouth and deepen it—push Oriol back to the nearest pillar and pry his pretty lips wide open. But the rest of David churns and shrivels back. Guilt blossoms inside him. He knows Oriol doesn’t actually want to be with him, and he knows not to get attached. He tells himself their friendship works. But the familiar scent Oriol’s cologne tempts him to no end, and it takes an incredible amount of will power to finally turn his face away. 

Oriol tilts forward and presses their foreheads together, refusing to withdraw. His body’s horribly _warm_ and calls to David’s eager hands. Oriol mutters, “I need to kiss someone who doesn’t look like my mother.”

David doesn’t ask. He’s always tried not to judge, to support Oriol no matter what. He knows how much Oriol appreciates that. Oriol pulls him closer, right into Oriol’s smooth chest, and then strong arms are wrapped around him and hugging him tight. David leans his cheek against Oriol’s broad shoulder and repeats _it doesn’t mean anything_. 

He makes himself joke, “Any warm body will do, I suppose.”

Oriol’s voice is whisper-quiet in his native tongue: “You know you’re much more than that.”

A sigh snakes out of David’s chest. He’s fallen too far again with no hope of turning back. 

His hand creeps up to thread through Oriol’s silk-soft hair—he can’t hold back from lovingly petting it as he offers, “Pick a guest room; you can stay as long as you like.”

Oriol mutters, “Thank you. I should head back in the morning, but I just... need some distance from my family right now.” 

David nods like he understands. Sucking in an audible breath, Oriol finally steps away. But he slips his fingers between David’s and tugs him off towards David’s bedroom, where David’s always hoped they would end up.


End file.
